


In this room with you

by merak_dubhe



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:17:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merak_dubhe/pseuds/merak_dubhe
Summary: Thanos has been defeated by the Avengers, including Loki. Natasha's life is back to normal (so to speak), when she gets severely injured during a mission. Can the God of Mischief help her?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After reading Darlingred1's Red series, which I just loved, I started toying with the idea of a situation where Natasha is hurt and needs comfort. Also, I was curious about the way Loki would adapt to life on Earth.  
> Although my story picks up where Red left off, I must warn you that my characters are slightly different and behave in ways that are not canon compliant. I admit, I sometimes made them do what cheered me up most!  
> Also, English is not my mother language, and this is the first time I write fiction EVER ;-)

She had been called in by Tony at the last minute, a replacement for another member who'd been shot in the previous action.

Natasha followed the rest of the team inside an abandoned riverside warehouse where the gang they had been watching was expecting a delivery.

After they exterminated all the bad guys, Tony rushed to open the container which had just been delivered, while they stood outside pointing their guns.

She had expected the usual cargo of weapons, but instead, it appeared to be empty. The light from their flashlights did not reach to the back.  

Then they heard a whining sound, and movement. Finally whoever was at the back began to move forward. 

The container was full of children.

They came forward, some crawling, some walking unsteadily. What was worse, some of them did not move at all. Even from a distance, she could see that they were dead.

The stench was indescribable.

She lowered her glock and looked at the first child and it happened.

A smaller container hanging from a crane swung and came crashing in her direction.

It would have hit her full frontal, but at the last moment she was somehow pushed aside and it landed on the right side of her body. The last thing she knew was a golden flash as she fell down.  

She woke up in a hospital room, tubes going in and out of her.

In spite of sedation, she felt simultaneously in great pain and disembodied, as if she had shattered in a thousand fragments that were no longer part of a whole.

She could hear the doctor and Tony whispering in the background.

“I don’t think she's going to recover. If she does, she will be paralyzed. The damage is too extensive, even for SHIELD surgeons.”

She sank into a black, bottomless pit.

She kept expecting that she would reach the ground, but all she felt was the air rushing around her. It was dark… no, it was not dark, she could not open her eyes.

Finally, with the typical incongruence of dreams, she heard a ding and she found herself stepping out of an elevator into a grey corridor.

As she turned a corner, she came upon an old man, slouched in a wheelchair. He did not seem to realise her presence, but kept babbling the same meaningless syllable, over and over again.

As she kept on walking, she met more and more patients; it was clearly a nursing home, and most of the patients were not just very elderly, but crippled and confined to wheelchairs and hospital beds.

Finally she came to a sort of living room, where the TV was on and the wheelchairs were arranged around tables.

As she stepped in, all the background noises of hospital life ceased. The room went perfectly still, as she walked towards one of the residents at the central table.

It was an old woman, dressed in a hospital tunic; the right section of her body, including her head, was hanging limply on the side of the wheelchair. She had bare legs and feet, thrust into old slippers.

When she reached her, she saw that her white hair was streaked with red.

She bent down and even before she met her eyes, she knew that they were her own.

Their expression of vacant horror set her screaming, the way she could not remember doing in all her long life.

When she thought she could no longer stand it, she felt something touch her. 

A dead child was holding her hand; he was wearing red shorts and a red and white striped t-shirt.

His eyes had already shrunk into their sockets, but he looked up at her like he could see her, and smiled, showing one of his incisives was missing.

He tugged at her hand and pulled her away from her decrepit self in the wheelchair.

They walked down endless corridors, turning and turning until she could see the glass doors of the exit.

Something stirred inside her, a sickly feeling that was waiting outside was not deliverance.

Holding the cold, slippery little hand, she crossed the threshold.

It had been raining, and the blacktop of the parking lot glistened. Except for a small patch just outside the doors, it was filled with children.

Dead girls and boys turned their heads towards her in perfect coordination, like soldiers in a parade.

They smiled, baring sharp silver teeth.

The little hand squeezed hers harder; she turned to see the boy cowering and trying to hide behind her, before a blonde girl leapt forward and bit off his other arm.

She had no way to fend the other children off; when she pushed them away, they just got up and attacked again, until they managed to catch him and tear him to pieces.

She ran back inside, only to meet her older self shuffling towards her.

She woke up.

All was quiet; she instinctively squeezed the hand holding hers, gripping the proof that she was no longer dreaming.

Now she remembered vaguely that this was the side of her body she was no longer supposed to feel.

Cautiously, she turned her head to check.

She could still move her neck, and she could see her fingers flexing, relief flowing from the wrist upward. She looked up at the person holding her hand.

He looked familiar, a tall man in a black suit with a white shirt and shoulder length dark hair. He was deeply asleep but looked suffering and drawn.

She stared at the red light of the smoke detector on the ceiling until she fell asleep again.

This time, her older self held her by the arms, while two men tried to tie her to the wheelchair.

She kicked them away and ran outside, only to be bitten in the chest by the children. As she fell, she could see what was left of the little boy lying on the asphalt.

She sobbed so hard she woke up again.

She was sobbing for real, tears running down her cheeks, but now she could feel a searing pain in the right side of her chest. Pain she could live with.

A movement caught her attention.

Holding her breath, she turned again.

The man in the chair was wiping the corner of his eye.

He looked far worse now: his skin was positively grey.

It was Loki.

The realization knocked her off again.

Finally she woke up in the grey morning, in great pain but feeling whole again. Her chest was bandaged, but they had removed all the tubes.

Loki was nowhere to be seen.

She had just dreamt that they had managed to tie her to the wheelchair and were carting her away.

She sat up, swung her legs slowly, then tried to stand. She nearly fell, but managed to hold on to the bed and shuffle to the closet.

Somebody had brought a change of clothes and her bag.

Putting them on took all her willpower.

Being able to move was nothing short of a miracle, but she chose not to dwell on it for the moment. 

She slipped on a pair of sunglasses and managed to creep out of the hospital unnoticed. She was so good at hiding pain, and the staff were just switching shifts.

She got a taxi and managed to reach one of her apartments and close the door behind her before she fainted.

“Natasha?”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Loki was standing right in front of her; she'd never seen him looking so bad.

“Are you dead?”

“Of course I'm not. No thanks to you.”

He picked her up and carried her to bed.

“What are doing here?”

“Well, as it happens, somebody vanished from the hospital and gave everybody a heart attack. And I seemed to be the only one who could locate you.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

He curled up his nose, but picked her up again and sat her on the bowl, then closed the door.

“Just try not to sneak out of the window, will you?”

“This bathroom has no windows.”

When she came out, he'd pulled out one of her t-shirts.

He helped her cover the distance to the bed.

“Now I'm going to open the door, and your friends and a doctor will come in.”

“I don't want to see them.”

“That's just too bad.”

Tony came in, followed by a doctor and a nurse. They examined her thoroughly.

She could hear the others’ voices: Steve, Pepper, Bruce, Clint… 

Tony was speaking to Loki in a corner; they were joined by the doctor.

Finally Tony walked up to the bed.

“The doctor says you will be fine, but the recovery will be slow. I will not say I know what has come over you, although I think I do. Your friends would just like to see you, but I suppose you don't feel like it.”

She could imagine their worried, caring expressions… and she could not stand it.

“Please do not let them in. Tell them that I'm fine, but I cannot see them right now.”

He cleared his throat.

“Fine. I will be back tomorrow morning. Promise you will not bolt this time.”

“I promise.”

He turned and followed the doctor and the nurse out. She could hear voices protesting as the door closed, Clint's raised above all others.

She heard steps approaching.

“What are you doing here?”

“I am not your friend.”

“I do not want you here anyway.”

“Did you really think Stark would leave you alone like this? And besides, what are you going to do to prevent it? Jump on my shoulders and suffocate me?”

“Shall I remind you of what I've already done?”

“That was different. You are not strong enough now, and you know it.”

“You do not look too good yourself.”

“And that's because of whom?”

She hated to admit it.

“Let’s just try to rest, so you can fight me if you wish.”

He studied her face concernedly and shook his head.

 

When she woke up, she was still in pain. Not as much as she expected, no worse than she had already experienced, but it still felt like she'd been run over by several trucks and left on the side of the road.

The corner of the ceiling above her looked like it was stretching and shrinking, stretching and shrinking.

The nightmares had visited her all through her sleep, and she was incapable of assessing the situation.

She could not tell how many people were in the room, whether she was well enough to stand, and felt too sluggish and despondent to care. The last thing terrorised her so much that she managed to push herself up on her elbows, only to realize that she should have checked who was in the room before moving.

The man sitting in the corner stood up and walked to the side of the bed.

She was absurdly relieved to discover that it was just Loki, and that she still recognised him.

He looked better than the day before, which meant he'd progressed from a talking corpse to looking like hell warmed over. He no longer looked gray, drained and pinched, but he had deep dark circles under his eyes and his skin was ghostly white.

However, he still managed to look royally annoyed.

“How do you feel? You have a temperature.”

He laid a hand on her forehead, then, to her astonishment, whipped a thermometer out of nothing and popped it into her mouth.

She spit it out.

“You have magic, why do you need a thermometer?”

He huffed, picked it up from the blanket and handed back to her.

“Of course I don't need a thermometer, but the doctor who will come to visit you later will want human measurement made with human instruments. He's puzzled enough as it is.

And besides, for a while I won't be able to do any “heavy” magic, so it's human medicine and and human doctors for you from now on.”

He glared at her and walked back to his chair.

She put it back into her mouth.

“I'm sorry.”

She knew she owed him her life and she always acknowledged her debts. She just could not bring herself to thank him right now. This was just another thing that was out of joint.

She cleared her throat.

“What will you do to recover?”

“I plan to eat a lot and sleep even more, if you'll let me.”

He shook a newspaper open and began to read.

As she drifted back to sleep, she reflected: the last time she'd seen him, he’d vanished into thin air from her bed after she'd fucked him at both ends. After saving the world.

Back then, she sure had been in control of him. 

Now he seemed closer to his old superior persona, but with a twist. Less arrogant and more reserved, like he really was in control of himself. //And she owed him.//

Before she closed her eyes, she wondered if she should feel alarmed, disappointed or intrigued.

The doctor woke her up and checked her bandages; to his surprise, the wound on the side of her chest had already turned into a scar, albeit red, ugly, and pulsating angrily.

He eyed Loki and Tony suspiciously and left her antipyretics and antibiotics. 

She swallowed a few spoonfuls of tea while they watched her closely, took her medicines and laid back down.

As soon as she was asleep, the nightmares recommenced. 

After a while, somebody touched her eyebrow, and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When she came to, it was dark again.

She could hear noises coming from the tiny kitchen.

After Thanos, they had been rehabilitated and allowed to come back to New York.

She found it kind of ironic that, after saving the world, their lives had gone on in much the same way as they had before. More missions, more work, more violence. Just another day at the office.

About six months had elapsed, during which she had sometimes wondered where Loki had ended up.

One thing she would have never imagined, was seeing him enter her bedroom with a bowl of soup.

“Try to eat something.”

She looked at the bowl suspiciously.

“No, I didn't put anything in it and yes, it's regular human food.”

She tasted it and found it quite good.

He answered her unspoken question, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I made it myself. Please grant me enough brains to learn how to operate a stove and a blender.

I told them Asgardian food would be better for you, but apparently, they shared your prejudice.”

He took the bowl and spoon away.

She sat back and switched on the tv.

The fever was rising; it was at the stage where you felt exhilarated, keyed up and, ironically, better than you really were.

She flicked through the channels idly. The wound had begun to pound and hurt again.

She checked her temperature and swallowed her pills.

She could feel herself growing more and more restless by the minute.

Just as if he could sense it, he walked back into the bedroom, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

She just had to stare.

“I think I am dressed correctly for my plans, which involved falling asleep on your couch.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her face, then moved the chair next to her side of the bed.

“Lean your head on mine, like this.”

He moved her head so that her forehead was leaning on his, then laid his right hand on the left side of her head. He felt deliciously cool.

She held her breath as he slipped his other hand under her t-shirt and spread his fingers on her scar. She could feel relief flowing from his fingertips, a sort of golden syrup.

She involuntarily smiled and leant a little into his hand.

They were silent for a moment as the news came on, then he spoke, the old sarcastic tone back in his voice.

“How boring this must be for you, Natasha. No guns, no blades, no needles.”

She had almost been dozing off, but this made her sit up, waiting for what he would do next.

Instead, he just fell silent and stared at the screen in the darkening room.

The President came on, making a speech at the White House.

“I can't stand him, really!”

He snapped his fingers and the man on the screen instantly grew a clown’s red nose. His mouth opened in surprise; he stood still, dumbfounded for a moment, then started touching his nose with both hands, palpating it in an almost obscene way.

As soon as he moved, all hell broke loose; the security men grabbed him and took him away, but not before Loki had managed to change him into a hula dancer's costume, complete with a teeny red bikini top that sat incongruously on his white, jiggly torso.

“There, don't you think he looks better?”

She normally wouldn't have given him satisfaction, but it had been too sudden, and she was giggling hysterically in spite of herself.

He looked at her sideways, smiling smugly.

She switched channels to a talk show.

Two serious looking men and a woman in suits were discussing some economic theory.

Loki blinked once, and both the host and the guests found themselves wearing each other's clothes.

The woman, a tall, icy blonde, was wearing the suit of one guest who was a short, paunchy little man. The jacket gaped in front and she had to pull up the pants, which reached only halfway down her calves anyway.

The short man looked decidedly unhappy in the other, taller guy's clothes. The jacket bulged, the trousers pooled on the floor, and even his moustache drooped.

But the funniest was the tall guy in the blonde's skirt suit: he looked both shamefaced and satisfied, as if wearing women's clothes was his dirty little secret.

“I bet he does the dishes wearing his wife's underwear.”

“He does more than just the dishes, my dear. And did you see her butt?”

As the blonde ran away, they could see a thong sticking out from the trousers, with parts of a tattoo sticking out on each side. The tattoo read something like “bitch”.

Loki chuckled happily and Natasha just had to smile, if only at hearing him use the word “butt”.

She switched back to the news, where they could see a line of people crossing the desert, obviously refugees fleeing a war.

They both fell silent. After a few seconds, she found the courage to ask “so, how are Thor and your people doing?”

“Passably well. They are getting settled, so to speak.”

“Do you hear from him often?”

“I live with them.”

She opened her mouth, but really could find nothing to say.

“Don’t look so upset, I had nowhere else to go. And he could do with some help. After all, I have more far more experience ruling than he has.”

“So, you rule together?”

“Not exactly. I'm a sort of consultant. Let’s just say that he's the king and I'm the mage.”

“I must say, I would have never expected it. After all you told me, I thought it would be hard for you.”

He removed his hands, to rub absentmindedly the palm of his left hand with his right, then put them back into place.

“It is. I can get on for a few weeks, and then it chafes, and the pressure starts to build. But now I try to find ways to avoid a blow up.”

“Oh, and what are they?”

“I come here for a few days.”

“So, you are basically telling me that when you cannot stand your family, you take a weekend off? Pity you never thought of this before. Now I’m curious… what do you do?”

“Oh, I try to have as much sex as possible.” He smirked.

She should have expected it. She felt a little jealous, but also aroused. She was reminded of how good it had been when she'd fucked him.

“Aren’t you afraid of being recognized?

“You know I can alter my appearance, and I move mostly at night. //Oh, and in case you were wondering, I always use condoms//.”

He chuckled to himself.

“Remember when all the ATMs around Times Square gave 20 extra dollars with each withdrawal? That was a very good night.”

“I also do other things. I like to borrow from your Public Library at night. The librarians might find out that their self checkout machines have a tendency to go on at midnight. I like to play hide and seek with the guards in the Met. They're half convinced there is a real ghost.”

Something stirred in her memory.

“So, when they found the Egyptian sarcophaguses in the Met all arranged in the modern section around a card table, it was you?”

He chuckled again.

“Of course it was. The pharaoh was winning. Don’t look at me this way, I was very careful not to damage them.

You think I'm just a beast, but I can appreciate knowledge and beauty. However, I've had to cut down on museum going recently. I have other things to do.”

She did not know if it was the fever, or his smell, but she felt deliciously high, and she was soaking wet. 

She switched to a cartoon channel.

Kung Fu Panda was on.

“I really like Kung Fu Panda.”

“Well… the tiger lady really reminds me of you.”

“Well, you remind me of Doraemon.”

His eyes crossed and he spluttered.

“Why on earth would I look like an alien blue cat?”

“You’re forever whipping things out of nothing. I didn't think you knew him, anyway.”

Doraemon appeared immediately in the middle of the screen. He had a suspicious bulge in his crotch, however, and he made sure to accidentally bump into Tigress whenever he had the chance, while Po looked on helplessly.

SpongeBob Squarepants and Patrick Star filed in from the right.

“That's my favourite cartoon.”

SpongeBob had a bulge in his pants, too. As they interacted with Po and Tigress, he nonchalantly bumped into Patrick.

“I knew it, I knew it” she giggled.

Just then, SpongeBob turned and started bumping into Tigress.

  
  


She laughed, then something prompted her to ask.

“Is this the best you can do? Filling cartoons with sexual innuendos? Can you do some serious magic?”

His face clouded over for a moment and he looked down, then he lifted his head and snapped his fingers.

“Of course I can.”

The dark room filled with a whitish glow. Large, soft snowflakes started falling from the ceiling and covering the bed and the carpet.

The temperature had not lowered, but the room was filled with the hush, the stillness that snow always brings.

She spread her hand and let one flake fall on her palm.

“Is this real snow?”

“It's an illusion. I can also conjure real things, like you said, but I leave weather to my brother.”

She was strangely serene as she looked at it, the unease that followed her accident momentarily gone.

“I can do even better, want to see?”

The snow disappeared, but the counterpane was replaced by a meadow in bloom.

In the dark room, it shone like it was lit by a summer sun.

She could see every blade of grass, every tiny flower.

She stroked the covers and she could feel them, touch every petal, run her fingers along the stems. The scent of chamomile and crushed grass filled the room.

“The hardest part is the smell.” he whispered.

“It's… beautiful.”

He snapped his fingers again, but nothing happened.

“You drew a blank!”

“That's what you think!” He smiled mischievously.

After a while, the meadow glimmered and vanished.

She picked up the remote again and switched channels. X factor was on.

They sat there for a while, commenting on the judges and the singers’ looks.

Then a song came on

_ I’ve been reading books of old _

_ The legends and the myths _

Loki winked and started to sing; she joined him after a few seconds.

He was really good at singing, and she could appreciate the irony.

_ I'm not looking for somebody  _

_ with some superhuman gifts _

They went on to the next song

_ Tried to keep you close to me _

_ But life got in between _

And sang all the other songs of the episode.

When it was over, she switched off the TV and the room went dark.

She felt strangely shaky and vulnerable. She had gone on to the next stage of the fever, her head hurt and her eyes had begun to sting.

“This is so weird…the people who know us, they would say we are not ourselves tonight, don't you think?”

He started singing a slow song in his language.

“Is this a lullaby?”

“No, it's just a slow ballad like you have.”

“You have a beautiful voice. Did anybody tell you that?”

“No, singing wasn't especially prized upon in Asgard.”

“Why?”

He was pensive, and when he whispered, it was so low she almost missed it.

“Maybe because it was me who did it.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the head.

“Try to sleep now.”


	3. Chapter 3

When she woke up the next day, she felt sore, weak and stiff, but the fever was almost gone.

However, she still felt different.

Normally, she would have analysed her mental state, and given herself a diagnosis and a course of action.

That was the problem. She just could not bring herself to analyse anything.

For the first time, she could not see what her next step would be, could not see anything on the horizon except the state she was currently in. 

The fear of punishment from her Red Room days, her sense of duty towards her colleagues, her perfectionism and her pride… they made her feel bad, but this time they were not enough to shift her.

Well, at least she could try and see if she could reach the bathroom on her own.

She got up and crossed the room, her gait unsteady, her head full of cotton wool.

Just sitting down made her head spin. She raised an arm and it looked a mile long.

When she pulled her panties down, she blinked.

They were emerald green.

Her level of irritation surprised even herself. 

She stormed, or rather shuffled as aggressively as she could, into her kitchenette.

“Who the hell do you think you are? The damn wizard of Oz?”

Loki turned from the sink, where he'd been wiping a dish.

He looked half angry, half alarmed.

“Well, and good morning to you!”

They stood staring at each other, finally taking in the absurdity of the situation. 

She was about to make a quip at him doing something so mundane, when her eyes fell on his crotch.

She expected him to make some lewd remark, but instead, he looked almost sheepish.

“Well, Agent Romanova, it looks like you still have that effect on me, after all.”

He turned and started to fill the kettle.

It wasn't like him to be uneasy about it. She began to suspect something.

“How long have you been like this?”

“On and off, since I picked you up from the floor.”

“And you haven’t…”

He looked at her, took a deep breath.

“Since we're going to have this conversation, I suggest you take a shower and we have breakfast first.”

He followed her into the bathroom, and waited while she showered.

When she got out, he was holding her bathrobe and staring at her body.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, the only time you took all your clothes off, I was too… absorbed to pay attention properly.”

For an instant, he looked like he wanted to kiss the new scar that ran down her chest.

He turned back to the kitchen instead.

“Just try not to break again, ok?”

When she sat at the table, he’d made himself steak and eggs, a heap of pancakes and a whole pot of tea.

A dish of toast bread was on her side.

“What? I told you I needed to eat a lot. I figured you wouldn't be very hungry, but I can make more if you wish.”

He snapped his fingers and what was left of the batter started pouring itself into the pan on the gas ring.

She ended up eating all of the bread and a couple of pancakes.

When they were finished, he waved a hand casually and all the dishes vanished and reappeared in the sink.

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and laid her folded hands on the table.

“... So?”

He sat back in his chair, then changed his mind and leant forward. He did not look up, but spat out angrily.

“It's none of your business if and when I jerk off or not.”

“It isn’t, but why do I have the feeling there's something more to it?”

He licked his lips, his expression neutral.

She waited.

“Since the last time we met, I've fucked myself senseless. I've fucked other people senseless too. As you probably know, when you're a whore, the line between the two is very thin.”

She nodded, and he gave a little smirk.

“Not that I'd especially restrained before.

Anyway, no matter who I’ve been with, it's not the same.

Not for any special reasons, except..”

“They did not know you, and you did not trust them.”

He nodded. “And I did not trust them… the way I trust you.”

He took a deep breath.

“However, now that I’m here, I've realised you've trained me far too well.”

He leant closer and snarled:

“Nice collar you've put around my neck. You must be really proud of yourself.”

Her back had begun to hurt and she felt cold.

“So, if we picked up where we left off, you would be happy?”

He fidgeted and looked down.

“I did not come here with that purpose, no matter what you think. I did not even mean to be here, it just happened. You do not have to. There's no greater good this time.”

She knew there wasn't, even in her muddled state.

“I need to get back to bed.”

She got up and slowly made her way back.

He stood a few steps behind her.

As she sat down on the bed, she looked up at him.

He looked strangely serious.

“Would you like me to make you come?”

He blinked.

“Don’t expect anything fancy, I left my toys at home, and I can hardly sit straight. But would you like to?”

He nodded.

“What did I teach you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Kneel down.”

She scooted to the edge of the bed and parted her legs, showing him her crotch.

When he brought his face close, she grabbed his hair.

“Did I tell you to?”

“No, Natasha.”

“There, just rub yourself against my leg.”

She could not hurt him, but had to find a way to keep him under control. She hoped it would not be too humiliating.

He leant his hands on the edge of the bed and started rubbing his crotch against her knee. She could feel his dick twitching under the cloth of his pants.

“So I'm not just your whore, I'm your bitch too?”

“Shh..”

She could see he was struggling not to topple her over.

She was so wet.

“Stop.. you can touch yourself now.”

He pulled down his zipper.

“Do not take your pants off.”

She fingered the elastic of her panties, reluctant to do more.

Then she pushed two fingers inside, and gave them to him to lick.

He sucked them greedily as he pumped himself frantically.

“There's a good boy, you can come now.”

He spilled over onto his pants, panting and trembling.

She fell back on the bed.

When he tried to touch her, she jumped up.

“No!”

She longed to come, but she felt strangely reluctant, like any intense sensation might make her fall apart.

“It's just that I don't feel like it right now.”

“Can I at least get into bed with you?”

She nodded, and he took off all his clothes and slipped immediately under the covers.

A few minutes later, they were both asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When she woke up again, she was tied to the bed in the hospital she'd dreamt about.

Her old self and a couple of henchmen were studying her.

She recognized them, she’d killed them in one of the last missions.

They were smirking now.

One of them slapped her so hard, her head bounced the other way. The other one started to pull her ankles apart.

Nothing that had not happened before.

She kicked him back and managed to free one hand. She caught the head of the closest thug and smashed it into the bedside table.

She freed the other and attacked the other man, who had gotten up in the meantime.

She freed her legs, jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, while her crooked, old self looked impassively on.

She ran down the corridor until she reached the entrance of the building; when she dashed out of it, she found herself tied to the same bed, in the same room.

She managed to free herself again, but the situation repeated itself again and again, and every time she was a little slower, and her older self looked closer and more threatening.

Finally there came a time when she knew she was too weak to break free.

She awoke with a jolt.

She was in her bedroom, on her back, her arms lying back on the pillows.

She could feel Loki's weight on the mattress next to her.

It wasn't the physical trauma, she thought; that had just been the last straw.

For a few months, she had felt increasingly nauseated; a supposed happy end had turned out to be just a continuation of what was before.

She had long thought that she would be able to wipe the red from her ledger, but could she wipe it by adding more to it? And yet, there was nothing else she could do better or with more satisfaction.

She could conceive a different life, the way a suburban, stay-at-home mother like Laura could conceive making a living by seducing and murdering terrorists and drug lords.

She was good at what she did, but she still felt sick.

A single tear rolled down her cheek; she called herself names, threatened herself with the worst punishments she could conceive, told herself she was a shame, weak, and useless to her colleagues, but more followed. Before she knew it, she was crying her heart out, as silently as she could.

Not silently enough. 

He shifted on the mattress, then pulled himself up on his elbows, close to her head, and sat up.

If she had opened her eyes, she was sure she would have seen his own shining green in the dark, like a cat’s.

He did nothing, did not try to touch her or comfort her, but she could  _ feel _ him listening intently.

Finally, he turned on the bedside lamp and looked down at her.

He had the same manic smile and glittering eyes as when she'd first seen him.

“Agent Romanova…”

She looked up, blinking.

“Well, Agent Romanova…”

He sounded positively threatening this time.

He suddenly yanked her hair hard, so quickly she did not even see his hand.

Before she could think, she had slapped him twice and punched him in the mouth so hard he'd nearly fallen out of bed.

He was holding her by the wrists and they were both panting.

She felt sore again and her nose was running.

He slipped his tongue out and tasted the blood on his split lip.

“Now, eat me out!”

“What?”

“Eat me out!”

He pulled down her panties and got down to it like it was all he was waiting for.

The thing she loved most was that he seemed to enjoy her so much, making small noises and breathing through his nose like he was eating something good in a really ravenous, animalistic way.

He pulled up her t-shirt and started caressing her breasts: she had not told him to and tried to push his hand away, but in the end just let him do it.

She hovered on the brink of orgasm, the muscles of her legs shaking, before he finally pushed her over the edge, alternating sucking on her clit and flicking his tongue inside.

“Better?”

She could hear the smugness in his voice; she was getting ready for his boasting, instead he just pulled her t-shirt down, almost gently, and sat back next to her.

She really felt better, anyway, from the waist down at least.

He started toying with a lock of her hair, smiling.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“You know, when I called you Agent and you did not react, for a few seconds I was really worried.”

“And now?”

He studied her hair, his face suddenly sombre.

“I am worried still.”

He paused.

“You see, I did this to you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Before her look of incredulity and incipient hate, he hurried to add:

“Not intentionally. I would never harm you now, you should know by now.”

She nodded.

“But I was there, and what’s more, I put all this into motion.”

She waited, her brow furrowed.

“It was me who tipped Stark off.”

For once, she was totally speechless with surprise.

“I…”

He started shivering.

She noticed all his scars were showing tonight, including the one she had left on his left palm.

“Would you mind?”

She dug her nails in his shoulder, and pulled them down his arm, leaving five red trails that reached down to the elbow.

“Thank you. It's a hard habit to kick.”

“I…” he swallowed, then shook his head and recommenced.

“Here in New York, I rent a tiny flat.

One day, I was coming back and I came across this child on the stairs.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me or the way he moved, I don't know.

Well, I know what it's like when somebody way more powerful than yourself exploits your weaknesses to get into your head, and I could tell he'd been having sex.

So, when he went out the next day, I followed him.”

She stared at him, her face blank.

“He went to one of your churches.”

She opened and closed her mouth.

“After he came home, I went to have a little chat with one of your priests.”

She shot him a questioning look.

“I just meant to frighten him, but the realization that blue devils existed outside of his sacred books must have been too much for him.

Anyway, I checked up on the boy and the after a few days, he went to the priest's funeral. And what really drove me mad was, was...”

His skin took on a bluish tinge and he looked like he was going to throw up.

“He was broken-hearted.”

She could feel her throat closing.

“I'd taken the priest’s laptop with me. I've worked out how these machines work, so I made a list of his contacts. I paid a couple of them a visit, but it got too risky to go on.

People would think that I was the aggressor and it would reflect on Thor and my people. So I handed it over to Stark. Which led to the events of the other night. ”

“You did well.”

For some reason, that seemed to upset him even more. He kicked the blankets away and started rubbing his hand again.

“No, no… I am not good. I do not believe in redemption. But there are some things even I don't do.

I am not a yardstick for measuring evil, but if it's something I cannot conceive, it must be bad indeed.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About three months now. You were not supposed to be involved.”

“Why?”

“We talked it over with Stark. I had a bad feeling about it.”

She remembered vaguely the flash of gold before she fell.

“You pushed me aside at the last second.”

“You are too precious to waste. Where would we be without your… unique talents?”

As grim as their conversation was, she had to laugh at that.

“Why didn’t you hand the whole thing over to the police?”

“Stark tried to, but the guy who organizes this whole traffic has policemen on his payroll. This way, it's become public instead. It cannot be covered up or minimized.”

He paused.

“Do you think those children will be alright?”

She drew a deep breath.

“That's a difficult question. They've already been through a lot. But they are young and if they find a loving family, I think they have a hope.”

“I'd thought about bringing them to Asgard, but that wouldn't do. If I'd had, then they would’ve always felt different from anyone else.”

It still hurts, she thought. After all these years.

“And then, I'd have had to tell Thor.”

“You haven't told your brother?”

“No… he just knows I hang out with Stark sometimes. He doesn't need any extra trouble, and besides, I don't feel like telling him anyway.”

“I see. Or anyway, I think I do.”

“I'm sorry about the accident. I feel it’s only part of a bigger problem, but I won't insist.”

She looked away.

He slid down under the covers and turned off the light.

They lay next to each other, nearly touching. The rhythm of his breathing slowly calmed her.

He started caressing the inside of her arm with the tips of his fingers, slowly, up and down.

“Whenever I came to New York, before going back I stopped outside your window.”

“That's just too creepy for words.”

“I did not want to stalk you, I just wanted to check you were all right.”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Yours is a dangerous job.”

He might have seen her with other men, she realised.

“I know what you're thinking. When you were with someone harmless, I left.”

“Were you jealous?”

“I rather preferred it when I found you washing your hair.”


	6. Chapter 6

When she woke up the following morning, she finally felt physically well, but sad and slow.

She'd never let her mood affect her so much. She'd never let her mood affect her at all.

However, she put on sweatpants and socks and helped Loki prepare breakfast. He was dressed in a dark suit and white shirt again.

They ate in silence.

When they were over, he did his little disappearing trick with the dishes again.

“Why don't you make them wash themselves as well?”

“I don't mind if there aren't many, it helps me think.”

“Wonders never cease. And what do you think about?”

“More mischief. No seriously, you should know that my brain cannot sit still for a second. But I'll tell you about it some other time, now I've got more pressing matters.”

Without any warning, he took her hands into his own, palms down. He looked tense and did not meet her eyes.

“I don't think I've ever done this before.”

Her arms and hands went immediately rigid.

“Relax, I am not going to hurt you.”

He massaged the back of her hands with his thumb, then, slowly, brought her right hand to his mouth.

“You are smart.”

He kissed the knuckle of her little finger, then moved on.

“Strong.”

“Beautiful.”

He was kissing the knuckle of her middle finger now.

“Generous.”

“And you know right from wrong.”

He moved on to her other hand.

“But you are also brave.”

“Cunning.”

“Devious.”

“Ruthless.”

“And, only if it’s necessary, absolutely deadly.

And I love you all the more because of it.

You are the person with the most innate sense of right and wrong that I've ever met.

Even when you're cruel, you're good; I mean, look at what you've done to me.

And you are free to live your life as you wish; you can quit everything and become a chubby babushka who works at a supermarket checkout, although I would recommend something in the line of sexy lingerie myself.

The point is, that would not change who you are; I would always trust your judgement.

And another thing.

If you are afraid of getting old and helpless, Thor and I can find a way to prevent it, if you wish; but if you don't, we won't desert you. All your other friends won't desert you.”

He put her hands down, still holding them, breathed out and relaxed his shoulders, like he'd taken a weight off his chest.

She stared at him, bewildered.

Then the words formed themselves in her mouth.

“How do I know you are not lying?”

He looked up and his red eyes flashed angrily.

“Does this sound like the kind of lie I would be glad to tell?”

 

He let go of her hands, shot up and started washing up with a vengeance. He obviously wished to be left alone.

She went to shower and dress, feeling dizzy and strangely light-hearted. Under the running water, she tried to turn Loki's speech over in her mind, but she was still too shocked to process it. It would just have to wait until she had gathered her wits again.

When she came back, in a sweater and jeans, even the nape of his neck looked angry and brooding. She silently went into the bedroom and sat down with a book.

She was a few pages into it when she noticed that she was enjoying reading. The pleasure of doing small everyday things had seeped out of her in the previous months, and she had not even realized it.

After a while, she heard a knock on the door.

“Natasha?”

“Come in.”

His expression said that he was mortally offended, but had decided he could be civil to her.

“Stark called. They would like to pay a visit later this morning. I told them I would let them know.”

“Oh.”

“They would have come yesterday, but I told them you were too weak.”

“That's fine. Just give me some time to prepare.”

“I will tell them to be here in an hour's time.”

“Thank you.”

He huffed.

“I suggest you check your phone.”

She fished the dead phone out of her bag and plugged it in.

It started pinging and beeping immediately.

As she read their messages and emails, she smiled.

Her eyes watered, but she had cried enough.

She had never expected to feel so… loved.

And if it hadn’t been for Loki, she wouldn't be reading them at all.

By the time he came back, she was acutely ashamed of herself.

“Loki…”

Now he was behaving like someone who had thoroughly embarrassed himself, but was resolute not to blame her, since it was all his own doing after all. At least there was progress..

He waved it off.

“Your friends are here. Don't you want to meet them?”

She got up and walked after him in the living room.

She saw their smiling faces and was surprised by the warmth she felt.

 

They left, relieved and happy, after an hour or so.

Amid the cheering and the confusion, Loki had wandered off.

She closed the door and went back into the living room; he was walking back in from the balcony.

“I swear, if I ever invade Earth again, I'm going to use pigeons. Have you ever watched them? They’re worse than you and me put together, and that’s saying something.”

She smiled.

“Loki?”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

He nodded.

“And thank you for the things you said. I know there's more to them, but I cannot face it right now.”

He was silent for a second, than he spoke, the old smirk back on his face.

“Well actually you know, there is something you could do..”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Please let me fuck you.”

His face took on the pleading, earnest expression he sometimes had when they were in bed together.

“Just once. No rules. I promise I won't hurt you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“You don’t have to say yes right now. I want to do it when you feel whole again. You know I like it when you can fight me back.

Just think about it, ok?”

She nodded. He stooped and kissed her on the cheek.

“Now, with your permission, I must go and see how my insufferable brother is doing.”

He walked out of the apartment, then disappeared on the landing.

The flat seemed strangely empty. She went to the stove, and put on the kettle.


	7. Chapter 7

In scarcely a week, she was on a mission again.

The speed with which she killed the first thug surprised her.

It was like she had never stopped. She could think clearly, plan, strike and improvise, just as efficiently as before. She could still evaluate people with a look and manipulate them without a qualm.

This was so reassuring; and yet, she still could not summon the old satisfaction in putting one over the bad guys.

Even with her colleagues, outwardly everything was as usual, but she still felt distant. From the looks they gave her she knew that they knew.

Clint was making the usual jokes, and she was so grateful. She knew he was just waiting for her to respond truly, and not just with a casual smile.

She could only wait for the feeling to pass. Al least it did not impact her performance.

She only had the nightmare about the children once.

After two weeks, she awakened one night sitting in her bed before the muted TV. She was running her fingers through imaginary grass on the counterpane.

The following morning, the world looked slightly less distant.

She could feel her mood improving over the following days.

On Saturday night, there was a glorious sunset.

She decided to enjoy it from her flat and sat on the balcony on a blanket.

As beautiful as the view was, she could not help noticing the pigeons.

She was reminded of what Loki had said. They were the least lyrical bird that ever existed; as far as she knew, nobody had ever written poems about them. And yet, there they were: scruffy, aggressive, and determined to survive in spite of their bad reputation.

She stayed outside and admired the lights of the city going on one after the other, like stars in a galaxy.

Later, she needed to get a sweater.

Her kitchenette was warm and inviting in the yellow glow of electric light. That's how it must have looked to Loki when he was standing outside.

Before getting back in, she turned to look at the view. It was still beautiful, but compared to the flat, it was huge and cold.

And then, on Monday, it happened. Clint made a joke in the locker room, she joked back, and Steve laughed.

She could see from their eyes that they had understood.

She enjoyed a couple of days of her new found wellbeing, then, on the evening of the second day, she sat at her table and sent a text.

It said “I'm ready if you are.”

He answered “I am. But I cannot leave Thor right now. The night after tomorrow would be ok?”

“Of course.”

The following days passed in a blur.

She was a bit puzzled; usually, he could hardly wait to see her.

By the afternoon of the second day, she had decided that after all, she had her life back and he would have been a complication anyway. 

However, when he rang her doorbell, she was as close as she'd ever been to being nervous.

He came in and kissed her on a cheek.

“I'm sorry I could not leave earlier, but politics is a hard game.”

She'd never seen him looking grave and professional.

He accepted a glass of water, then followed her into the bedroom.

She sat down on the edge of the bed.

“So?”

He was standing with his back next to her.

He turned, an evil, mocking smile on his face.

“Well, maybe, after all, I've changed my mind.”

She swallowed, but before she could answer back, he'd crossed the room and was holding her face in his hands, smiling, before crushing her mouth with a kiss.

 


	8. Chapter 8

She could see her outstretched arm on the floor.

They'd finally collapsed on top of each other, she lying on her belly and he on top of her, his left arm under her torso.

He was still asleep.

When he'd kissed her, she’d been so surprised, she'd slipped off the bed. They had never managed to get back on it.

The room was a mess.

She had a flashback of herself going down on him, something she'd sworn she would never do. She wasn’t quite sure what made her change her mind.

He was leaning back against the foot of the bed, his long legs open, panting and moaning and thrusting into her mouth.

He saved her from further embarrassment by grabbing her and pulling her into a sixty-nine.

She came into his mouth while she was still licking precome from the tip of his dick.

As soon as she'd stopped twitching, he grabbed her again and laid on her back.

He started rubbing his dick against her cunt. That made her even wetter.

After a while, she couldn't take it anymore. She started to moan and wiggle her hips.

She looked up and he was watching her, his eyes half closed and bright with mischief.

She knew what he was waiting for, did not want to give in, then suddenly lost it.

“Please, please, please. Fuck me.”

He laughed and slipped inside her.

For a moment he kept perfectly still, his eyes closed.

Then he began to thrust.

She screamed so loud, he stopped and caressed her face.

“Shh…”

After he began to move again, she stopped asking herself why she was doing it.

At some point, she even forgot what her name was.

They went on, moaning, panting and screaming until they both came. Then he turned her over and recommenced.

He must have cast a spell, since nobody had come up to knock and ask what the hell they were doing.

Now she was lying underneath him, covered in come from her navel down. She could not remember the last time she'd lost control this way.

She had not repented: she had needed to do it, needed to do something without worrying about the consequences.

She was just feeling a little twinge of anxiety about what would happen now that she'd relinquished her hold on him. Well, at least she could take good care of herself again.

She felt him shuffling his fingers under her belly. His arm must have gone numb. She closed her eyes again.

After a few minutes, he managed to pull himself up on his knees and his other arm, still holding on to her.

With some extra manoeuvring, he got up.

She was pretty sure he would knock her against some piece of furniture, instead they managed to make it to the bed more or less intact.

He turned it down and laid her on the mattress, then pulled up the blanket to cover her completely, tucking it carefully under her chin. He slipped in next to her and draped his arm around her waist.

She could feel the roughness of the woollen blanket on her skin. His chest was heaving next to her. All was quiet.

She allowed herself to fall asleep again.

When she woke up, she was lying on her back.

He was stirring beside her; when he was fully awake, he turned and started kissing and suckling her breasts.

She sighed and opened her eyes.

He looked up.

“Hello.”

“You do not waste time, do you?”

“You did not tell me I could stop.”

She looked into his eyes.

“If I told you to do what you please right now, what would you do?

He looked puzzled, then smiled, her nipple still in his mouth, and went on licking and sucking them tenderly, alternating left and right.

She started moaning softly.

He kissed down her new scar, then suddenly got out of bed.

She whined in disappointment when he let her go.

He came back with a wet towel and wiped himself clean, then lifted her legs and wiped her as well, humming under his breath.

“You're red. Do you feel sore?”

She shook her head, relaxing and enjoying the feeling of the cool cloth on her skin.

“There, all nice and clean!”

He dropped the towel on the floor and started rubbing her clitoris.

“You're getting wet again.

Mm, what I would like to do… let's see. I could make you fuck me with one of the sex toys you keep in the drawer of your bedside table. I see you bought some new ones.

Or I could fuck your pretty little ass. That was not part of our bargain, I'm afraid. I should’ve thought of it, I'm growing soft.”

He chuckled.

“Oh.. but I see you wouldn't mind, quite the opposite in fact. With something extra from your drawer, maybe? Ooh… you'd like that, I can tell. Interesting.”

His eyes darkened.

“It must feel strange, just lying there and being pleasured by me, of all people. You’re so soft and wet. Come for me, Natasha.”

She could feel her cunt pulsing and throbbing. It was true, when other people gave her pleasure, she rarely felt this lazy and greedy.

She looked at him and exploded into a spectacular orgasm.

While she was still shaking, he slid inside her. He did it slowly, drawing the pleasure out as long as he could.

After he'd come, he cleaned her again.

He sat up next to her, then, suddenly, slipped his hands under her armpits and pulled her up, making her sit across his lap with her legs bent and her head leaning on his shoulder.

He pulled up the covers and put his arms around her.

“This is what I really want to do right now.”

For a while, they just sat there in silence.

Then he began humming again under his breath. She could hear his voice echoing in his chest.

“Do you do that often?”

“Do what?”

“That singing, humming thing.”

For a short moment, he looked uneasy.

“I only do it when I'm by myself.”

He only did it when he was alone and safe.

“And what else do you do?”

“Well, I won't tell you everything, but I study and practice.”

“Practice?”

“Of course… magic requires practice, just like everything else. And I'm collecting the folklore of my people, now it's more important than ever.

However, I also study other things.”

A book full of mathematical formulas appeared in his hands.

“Stark gave it to me. I have some money to invest.”

She stared.

He sighed.

“Look, Thor and I were broke, so I went to Vegas and won it at poker. I didn't use any magic and frankly, I had a hard time of it, you humans are even worse than I expected. Luckily, I have centuries of experience as a liar.”

She was intrigued.

“Why didn't you use magic?”

“I wanted to see if I could win anyway and besides, I had a feeling you wouldn't approve of it.”

She smiled.

“Well, professional gamblers are not that honest, so if you want to use a little magic now and then, you have my blessing.”

He smiled back and kissed her on top of her had.

“Why was that?”

He looked like he really did not know himself.

“Well, for not thinking that all my magic is bad, I guess.”

“I never did. It's just as good or bad as its owner.”

He started humming again. 

“Happy?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Yes.”

“Does it feel weird?”

She considered his question.

“I'd say what really feels weird is.. that it doesn't feel weird.

Given our lifestyles, I don't think it's going to last.”

“That's probably true, but that doesn't mean it cannot happen again.”

Tentatively, she stretched out her hand and placed it on his chest. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat as she did it.

“You know what? Next time we meet you’ll do something incredibly kinky and painful to me, so you’ll know things are back to normal.”

“With chains and whips?”

“Chains, whips and blades and anything your wicked heart may desire.”

“Sounds great.”

They stayed like that for a while. 

It was early afternoon, but they didn't feel hungry.

Finally, he let her go with a sigh.

“Do you mind if I shower? I need to get back tonight.”

“Go ahead. I'll do it later.”

She turned on the TV while she waited.

 

She must have exclaimed something. Her tone must have been bad enough for Loki to shoot out of the shower and back into the bedroom.

In the footage, the child trafficker whose cargo they had discovered was walking out of prison, complaining about judicial errors.

If Loki's expression mirrored her own, then her face was a mixture of incredulity, frozen horror and abject rage.

She instinctively pulled her Glock from under the bed.

He laid his hand on her shoulder.

“Stay where you are. You know, I just remembered I had something to do before leaving New York. I will come back to say goodbye to you later.”

In a second, he was dressed and heading for the door.

Before opening it, he turned around.

“You know, if.. if you still feel like seeing me, I would like to have dinner with you one day.”

She nodded, her eyes hard.

“If you don't have to leave early, you can bring pizzas when you come back.”

Upset as he was, he managed to give her a half smile before leaving.

When he was gone, she shed a few tears, then got up and showered.

She put on a tight black sheath dress and high heels.

When she put on her jet black earrings in front of the mirror, the Black Widow looked back at her.

She went to shake out and remake the bed.

He had forgotten his book on the bedside table. She picked it up, smoothed a dog eared page, then put it back.

She sat at her table to wait.

She had left the TV on.

Just as she heard that the criminal had been found dead in his own home, the doorbell rang.

He was grim, his thin mouth set, but looked at her appreciatively.

She kissed him on the cheek, close to the mouth.

As he lowered the pizzas on the table, she saw a tiny fleck of red on his gray shirt. Then he brushed the fabric and it was gone.

After chewing the first bite, she asked “So, did Tony track down all the names on your list?”

Later in the evening, he called his brother and told him he would be back the next morning.

She slipped under the covers and patted the mattress. He slid in beside her, put an arm around her waist and turned off the light.


End file.
